


I Represent Harlem, He Was Raised Out in Brooklyn

by gaysquared



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bottom Bucky Barnes, Brief appearance as well by Natasha and Tony, Bucky calls Sam “Daddy”, Lots of 40’s slang bc I’m a slut for 40’s slang, M/M, Minor Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Pet Names, Top Sam Wilson, daddy kink but not really, for flavor, just in this fic but like in general they’d switch. You feel me, like just a dash, some cultural confusion, two dumbasses in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 13:12:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13388535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaysquared/pseuds/gaysquared
Summary: Back in the 1940’s, everyone called their boyfriend “Daddy.” It means something a little different now, though.





	I Represent Harlem, He Was Raised Out in Brooklyn

**Author's Note:**

> So the title of this story comes from “Doin’ it” by LL Cool J, because I’m Like That, thanks. The stevetony is very brief and barely there, if you’re not into that. 
> 
> This is probably MCU but could also be taken as 616, I guess?? You take your pick.
> 
> EDIT: For the sake of transparency, please know that this previously contained an excerpt that attempted to include Sam’s interpretation of the word “daddy” from a racialized point of view, but my ass is white and it was pointed out to me that the way I handled this was offensive, and that I probably shouldn’t have done it in the first place. I’ve removed that portion of the fic, and I apologize to anyone who may have seen it before it was edited and been offended by my mistake.

It was an honest mistake, Bucky thinks.

He wasn’t sure if he and Sam had ever had a traditional ‘honeymoon’ period, but regardless, after their first few months of dating and getting comfortable with each other, everything else just seemed to come naturally.

They annoyed each other, bickered at times, but as easily as the dumb jokes and eye rolls came, so did the casual affection. It was normal for Sam to nod off on Bucky’s shoulder while they were watching TV; Bucky liked having a hand on Sam’s thigh, and they sometimes; alright, often; accidentally held hands in public. They even took to pet names; more often when they weren’t thinking about it, and things like “babe,” and “sweetheart,” just came out.

So when Sam was busy in the kitchen and asked Bucky if he could “come get the plates out for dinner, baby,” Bucky’s natural response was “Sure thing, Daddy.”

A moment later he’d grimaced, upon remembering the way the word had changed since his glory days. It wasn’t so innocent or affectionate anymore. Sam gave him an odd look, like he might laugh, and Bucky opened his mouth, but couldn’t say anything.

He’d called plenty of fellas “Daddy” back in the day; that’s what you called your guy. Plenty of dames did it, and men too, even if you weren’t going steady. And it was hard to go steady with fellas, back then, if you were a man, because of all the sneaking around. Different now, though, of course, but Bucky isn’t necessarily your average modern man, even if he’s been in the future; or, well, the present, now; for a few years already.

Eventually, Sam just laughed, and started handing him plates to put on the table. “Always knew you were a kinky shit, Barnes,” he snickered, shaking his head. “What kinda porn didya stumble across while trying to catch up, huh?”

Bucky took the plates, but gave a shrug. “A guy can call his fella ‘Daddy’ when he wants; you know it ain’t like that.”

Sam cleared his throat, and that made Bucky look up. “Yeah, whatever. Hide behind your forties slang, why don’t you.” Bucky blinked, because it almost looked like Sam might be flushed; it was hard to tell with the man’s dark complexion, though.

“You can’t make fun of me if you’re already blushin’, Wilson,” Bucky said with a lopsided grin, and set down the last dish.

Sam made an indignant noise in the back of his throat, but Bucky simply kissed his cheek, and asked a little too breathily, a little too softly, what was for dinner.

••••••••••• 

In Bucky’s defense, pushing each other’s buttons was basically their specialty. 

And Sam seemed to have a button to push over that word, so Bucky started using it. A lot. 

Casually, a little smoothly; just a “Can you Get that for me, Daddy,” while on the couch, or a “How you feelin’, Daddy?” after a mission; little things he’d slip in, just to see if Sam reacted.

And Sam did react; rubbed his neck, would look down a bit, even sometimes bite his lip. But he’d deny it, and adamantly, if Bucky ever brought up his reaction. So, Bucky concluded, he would just have to keep pushing that button.

He started using it a little bit like a weapon; he’d been trying to get Sam to let him meet his family for ages, so was it really his fault if he muttered “When are you gonna finally take me to meet your momma, Daddy,” while they were laying next to each other one night.

Well; that in itself was a bit of a ruse, because Bucky already had Mrs. Wilson’s phone number, even if Sam didn’t know about it. They talked about old singers and divas and movies. Bucky liked her quite a bit. Which was why he’d really like to meet her in person, and all.

Still, Sam refused to admit defeat. So Bucky would have to bring out the big guns.

Like doing it when they showered in the morning, and Sam was half-hard under the heated spray as they washed together, or better yet; when they were in public. Now that; that was a fun one. Especially when he did it right before an Avengers movie night, just as people were starting to trickle into the living room.

Steve just looked at him curiously; Sam was glaring holes into the side of Bucky’s head, and let out an awkward cough. Steve didn’t seem to think anything off-color of it, though. Probably because he remembered the forties too, and was more than familiar with the pet name, even if Bucky hadn’t heard him use it in this time period.

Stark, however, tilted his head with an amused expression. “Well, _damn_ , Barnes,” he said. Steve gave Tony a look, but Tony held up his hands. “Hey, hey. I’m not one to judge. I’m sure you’ve all seen the sex tapes.”

“Not unless you’ve made a more recent one with Steve that we don’t know about,” Sam interjected, and Steve went beet-red.

Natasha came in snickering, likely having heard the whole discussion, and that was the end of that conversation.

•••••••••••••

“You know, if you keep denyin’ it, I’m just gonna start using it while we’re doin’ it,” Bucky said, hands occupied as he pulled his hair back into a bun.

Sam rolled his eyes and let out a laugh. “Doin’ it,” god, Bucky was such a shit sometimes. How eloquent of him. Although...

Sam realized he was humming, and Bucky gave him a strange look. Sam gave a a little smile, and murmured, _“I represent Queens, she was raised out in Brooklyn.”_

Bucky knotted his hair tie, tilting his head at Sam in the mirror. “Babe,” he said. “You’re from Harlem.”

Sam couldn’t help but burst out in laughter. After all, in Bucky’s re-education of the modern world, he probably hadn’t gotten to 90’s Hip-Hop and R&B quite yet.

••••••••••

Sam’s breaking point came a couple of weeks later. Bucky had followed up on using the word during sex, but it usually dissolved into laughter, like even Bucky couldn’t take himself seriously.

It’s after a rough mission; Sam is fine. He’s always fine. Sometimes, it seems like Bucky; and sometimes even Steve; can treat him like he’s glass; like his bones will break from one bad fall, one bad hit. He’s got a couple bruised ribs; some scraped knuckles. Nothing he hasn’t had before.

Bucky demanded Sam took first shower when they got back to their apartment, and Sam had begrudgingly accepted. He’s sitting in an armchair, lounging in his boxers with a cup of coffee, wincing every so often when the pain spikes in his side. Bucky comes traipsing out of the bathroom, most of his own bruises already a sickly green, as he towel-dries his hair.

“How you doin there, big guy?” he asks, pulling the towel around his shoulders as he comes to sit on the footrest across from Sam.

Sam lifts his hand, indicating the cup in his grasp, and gives a nod to Bucky. “Got coffee, got my hot boyfriend, shirtless, in front of me. I’m set, baby boy.”

Bucky lets out a snort. “Alright, darlin.’ I guess I’ll take that.”

“No you won’t,” Sam chuckles. “I live with you, Barnes, and I’m not an idiot. You’ll be pestering me for the next day and a half.”

Bucky shakes his head, but he’s smiling. “Well, shit, you know me too well, huh, Sammy?”

“Oh, a bit,” Sam hums, taking another sip of coffee. He definitely catches the way Bucky looks at him softly, a little too tender. “What’s on your mind, baby?” he asks, because he’s certainly not new at this.

Bucky raises his eyebrows, gives him a little look; then leans in to kiss him; soft, a little wet, and just enough to make Sam’s heart still flutter. Bucky backs up, licking his lips, and he’s still giving Sam that soft look. “Just thinkin’ bout you, that’s all.”

“How so?” Sam asks, moving the towel out of the way so he can thumb at Bucky’s neck; the strong, thick tendons there, that eventually arch down into webbed scar tissue over his shoulder.

Bucky hums, and Sam feels the flutter of his pulse under his thumb.

“You take such good care of me, champ,” Bucky murmurs, and he’s drifting a little closer, blinking softly. “Always wanting to take care of me, you know. Always trying to help me work my shit out, even when I need to fuck it out.”

He slinks closer, noses at Sam’s neck, runs a metal thumb over one of Sam’s bruised hands. Sam shivers, but listens; god, he already wants to argue, wants to say it’s all worth it, and of course he’d do anything; but he knows there’s no arguing with Bucky when he’s trying to make a point.

“You never let me return the offer,” Bucky says, and it’s a little rough, from the back of his throat. He picks up Sam’s hand, presses a kiss to the raw and scabbed skin. “You gotta let me take care of you too, Sammy,” he mumbles, holding Sam’s hand near his face. And then— “Let me take care of you, Daddy,” he says, and fuck, Sam’s gone.

Bucky’s close, and his lips are easy to capture in a searing kiss; and god, it’s been a while since it was like this. Maybe it’s a little unhealthy, but nothing beats the _“thank god we’re both okay and alive,”_ sex, really. Then Bucky’s tongue is in his mouth, and he’s not thinking anymore.

The towel falls off of Bucky’s shoulders, and Sam doesn’t know where he put down his coffee but he’s hoping to god it was somewhere safe, because Bucky is going to make him very quickly forget coffee even exists, and he knows it. Bucky nuzzles at his neck, goes breathy and quiet, kissing him harsh as the buzz in Sam’s head intensifies.

It’s times like this Sam wishes he could just; pick Bucky up, like Bucky could certainly do to him, if he wanted. He groans as he tries to stand, ribs protesting, and Bucky follows, managing not to trip; he probably has the whole apartment mapped out in his mind.

“Come on,” Bucky begs, breathless. “Let me make you feel good, Daddy.”

“You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me, Barnes,” Sam manages, but he starts to backtrack with Bucky into the bedroom anyway.

Bucky falls back onto their bed, pulling Sam with him as gently as he can. Sam collapses on top of him with a grunt; laughs slightly. The pain is easy to ignore, however, when there’s an incredibly eager supersoldier beneath him. Bucky’s already hard beneath him because; fuck, he’s always so sensitive, and he gets going so easy, and he keeps going; sometimes Sam has to admit there are some upsides to Bucky’s very unfortunate past.

Bucky curses against his lips, grinding their hips together, and Sam groans, sucking bruises that won’t be there for long into his lover’s throat.

“You’re gonna fuck me,” Bucky says, voice rough with want, “you’re gonna fuck me until you stop thinking, until you can give in and not give a single shit, okay?”

Sam’s cock twitches, but he captures Bucky’s lips again, and whispers into his mouth, “I thought being the daddy meant I got to call the shots.”

Bucky gives a jagged smile, grinding up into Sam, and fuck, they need less clothes _now_.

“I never said that,” Bucky laughs, and trails metal fingers over Sam’s hipbone. He reaches into Sam’s boxers, and squeezes him, just this side of too-tight, and Sam nearly sobs. The thing about Bucky’s arm is that you might think it’d be cold, because it’s metal, but it never is; the power inside thrums and whirs and the metal stays just hotter than normal skin, and like this, Sam can confirm that it’s fucking fantastic.

Sam helps Bucky shove down his own boxers, kicking them off of his feet, so Bucky can keep touching him. Bucky strokes him with a tight grip, the kind that’s teasing and just-barely too slow, twisting and thumbing at the tip.

Sam curses and breathes hot into Bucky’s neck, head spinning. He thumbs at the man’s boxer briefs, which are harboring a growing wet patch. “God, Buck, get these off before I die.”

Bucky snorts, but complies, shimmying softly out of his underwear, dick popping out lightly, and fuck if Sam’s mouth doesn’t water.

“Later, prettybird,” Bucky says, eyeing him as if he knows exactly what Sam’s thinking. “We got plenty of time. Fuck me first.”

Sam can’t argue with that.

He reaches over Bucky to grab the lube from the drawer, then crawls back as his boyfriend spreads his legs, the glint in his eye indicating it’s at least a little for show. Sam wants to laugh, but his throat goes dry at the sight, because; well, shit. He’s only human.

He warms a bit of lube on his fingers, then rubs the tips softly against Bucky’s hole, not expecting the easy and giving slide with which one finger slips in. Sam swallows.

“Did you...?”

“Already open up a bit in the shower? Yeah, Daddy, I like giving you gifts, after all.”

Sam can’t help but bite his lip; he moves his finger easily, and lets the second slip in as well. “Fuck,” he mutters.

“I would have to agree,” Bucky says, but it’s a little rough, stretched out at the edges.

Sam pushes, and stretches, but doesn’t experience much resistance to start with. Bucky’s hips jump when Sam drags his fingers over his prostate, and it’s a glorious sight. He slips a third finger in, and thinks he knows that pleasure-burn-stretch all too well, can see it in the way Bucky sets his jaw and makes a noise in the back of his throat.

Shit, he can’t take any more.

Bucky lets out a disappointed groan when Sam drags his fingers out, but Sam’s so hard now he can’t think. Just lubing himself up, hand loose on his cock, sends heat down to his toes. He’s panting by the time he crawls further over Bucky, who opens his legs wider, thighs parting around Sam’s own to allow him access.

He lines up, presses in close; there’s a slow slide, so tight he thinks he could come just from the feeling, then an easy give, a steady opening of Bucky’s body under him.

“Fuck, baby,” he mutters, shaking slightly. “So good. Always so good, goddamn.”

“Course,” Bucky says, voice thick and strained. “Only the; _ah_ , the best for you, huh, Daddy? Best for my best guy.”

“Can I—“ Sam tries to ask, a warbled and overwhelmed noise, but Bucky grins like he knows exactly what he’s trying to say.

“I’m good,” Bucky confirms, breathless. “Go to town. Into the mattress, come on.”

Sam starts slow, because he doesn’t know any other way.

The slow drag of tight heat is a delicious tease on his dick, and; god, how is it so hot that Bucky’s cock hasn’t even flagged since he was being prepped? He grinds in, just a bit harder, and Bucky gasps, pushing back onto him. His dick smears precome over his stomach, and Sam feels his mouth water.

Bucky presses in closer to him, lifting a leg over Sam’s hips, Sam’s hands shake as he leans forward, finally achieving the depth he’s been looking for. He can’t hold back after that; he drives in harder, sweat gathering on his brow. Bucky opens his thighs wider and wider for him, it seems, and Sam breathes hard into the man’s neck, pulse pounding in his ears.

“Fuck, Sammy,” Bucky says, and it’s gruff, his accent strong with heat. “You can go harder, Daddy, come on.”

Sam obeys, rocking into the man hard, and his thighs are tensing, stuttering as Bucky squeezes down on him, and he’s cursing at the warmth already growing in his gut.

“Buck, I can’t, baby, I can’t—“

Bucky squeezes down on him again and fuck, fuck, it’s like tripping off a cliff; he stops pulling out, grinds in as hard as he can into his partner, and Bucky groans loud in his ear.

“That’s it, come on Daddy, come for me, come Daddy, come on—“

He is already, jerking inside of Bucky’s body, that fast, stuttering grind making his toes curl. It lasts and lasts, and he’s panting, sees Bucky jacking himself fast as he starts to come down.

“Shit, darlin,’ that’s gorgeous,” Bucky gasps out, even though Sam could say the same to him.

Bucky clenches around him, tensing and coming, and Sam nearly buckles at the oversensitive pleasure-pain that milks his spent cock. He groans as he watches Bucky come between their stomachs, and fuck if it isn’t as beautiful as ever.

“You did it, babe,” Sam says breathlessly, collapsing on Bucky in a way he knows is annoying as hell. “You’ve officially killed me. I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

Bucky grunts. “I hope not. Otherwise you’re gonna get stuck to me.”

Sam raises his head at that. “Fair, fair. Just let me catch my breath, because; unlike you; my body actually has limits, and then I’ll suck you off; okay, baby boy?”

Sam actually feels Bucky’s dick twitch under him at that.

“God,” Sam says, bringing his hands up in mock-prayer. “God bless supersoldier metabolism and refractory periods. God bless their stamina. Just, God bless—“ 

He’s cut off by Bucky poking him hard in the ribs, most of which are bruised, and Sam briefly considers suffocating the love of his life with a pillow.

“Fucking— ow, is this how you repay people who promise to give you blowjobs?”

Bucky grunts and shrugs. “Nah. Just you.”

Sam shakes his head. “Yeah. I figured.”

“You’re also the only person I call Daddy.”

“I can live with it.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is certainly not my best work but the concept was just too good to pass up. As always, comments keep me alive, so leave one if you please!


End file.
